


R!afiki

by WhatWouldEnderDo



Category: Lion King - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 04:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14762600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatWouldEnderDo/pseuds/WhatWouldEnderDo
Summary: I'm currently in the process of transitioning an archive of maybe ten or so pieces of older writing to Ao3. This one is a one-shot rational take on the Lion King (specifically clarifying why Rafiki did nothing as Scar took over).





	R!afiki

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently in the process of transitioning an archive of maybe ten or so pieces of older writing to Ao3. This one is a one-shot rational take on the Lion King (specifically clarifying why Rafiki did nothing as Scar took over).

_ “In which lion and hyena come together, in a great and glorious future!” _

The words rang in Rafiki’s ears like a thunderclap as he watched from afar, his heart sinking. They came from the shadows in twos and threes, their mad cackling subdued—twenty, then thirty, then fort—more than he’d imagined in his darkest contingencies—more than he’d ever seen in one place before—and _still_ they kept coming.

Too many. He could handle four or five of them without breaking a sweat—could maybe hold his own against a dozen, if he had to—but this?

This was an _army_.

_Taka_ , he moaned silently, tears coursing down his cheeks. _Taka, what have you done?_

Beneath Pride Rock, the lionesses cowered, uncertainty in their eyes as they shrank together. Rafiki could see the change as it came over them, the moment when the fear became too great and they turned, inevitably, toward the last remaining bastion of sanity and calm—toward Taka, standing taller than he ever had, watching benevolently as they coronated him with their silence.

So close. They had been _so close_ to solving the lion friendliness problem, Rafiki and Zazu and their quiet allies in the pride. If Simba had lived to adulthood—with both his ancestry and the moral code they’d only just begun to teach him—he would have built a kingdom the likes of which Africa had never seen, a model that could have inspired a renaissance across the entire continent.

But Taka— _Taka_ , he insisted; he _would not_ call him Scar, even now—Taka’s pain had undone them all, had festered into poison instead of maturing into wisdom. The map of time unfolded before Rafiki, the future as clear as the course of the river—first the death of the smaller animals as the cackling hordes hunted them to extinction, then the wild overgrowth as the herds moved on to safer pastures, then the inevitable crash as the vegetation strangled itself, leaving behind nothing but dust and sadness. It would happen, and the elephants would do nothing, as they always did—it _was_ happening, had happened already, was already a part of the inevitable future. It wouldn’t even require any particular evil on Taka’s part—only that he continue his hopeless search for love and power and respect. He would get what he’d always wanted—briefly, in a flash of glory, before taking everyone else down with him. It wouldn’t be his fault—he simply lacked the capacity to understand the consequences, to see the broader picture.

_ We should have killed him when we had the chance. _

They’d discussed it, Zazu and Rafiki and Sarabi—had actually stopped Mufasa when he threatened to do it himself, the day he seized control from the old tyrant Jeuri. It would set the wrong precedent—would taint the beginnings of their brave new world with blood, cast a shadow of hypocrisy over everything they planned to teach young Simba. It was the Old Way, the way of the savage childhood they were hoping to leave behind.

But they had underestimated Taka’s bitterness, bet too heavily on Mufasa’s ability to keep his brother in check. Paid too little attention to the dark prince’s wanderings, as he roamed from place to place—he must have spent _years_ gathering the hyenas, winning their allegiance. They’d had contingency plans for Mufasa’s death, of course, and for Simba’s, too, but none for both at once, none for a swift and horrible coup atop the ashes of all their plans and dreams. It had seemed impossible, unthinkable—they might as easily have planned for what to do if the sun went out.

And now all of Africa would pay the price for their inattention. Death and devastation, and the loss of untold thousands in the future as the cycle of death and violence continued unabated. A part of him tried to retreat from the pain, to convert it into rage—at the lions, who refused to do better; at the elephants, who could fix everything in a day, if they ever bothered to try; at the whole stupid, frustrating system, which had all of the elements of a utopia and simply _would not cohere_ —

But no. This, too, was a mistake. Reaching up, Rafiki dragged his hand across the image of little Simba, smearing the berry juice into an unrecognizable streak. Anger was not productive—all the fury in the world would not bring the young prince back to life, nor shift the looming juggernaut of history by half an inch. What he needed to do was grieve. He would mourn, he would heal, and then—

Then, he would pick up the pieces, and begin anew.


End file.
